As is our custom, we dedicate Sunday to random thoughts culled from the flowing fields of notes growing at uglY cOUsin HQ.  The ancients believed that through the practice of making connections between seemingly random objects and thoughts, one could discover the god essence.  So, enjoy church.  Show up next Sunday with some randomness for the collection plate.  

The Color of Power
I like to pee a little down my leg before important meetings.  My pheromones burst into the air from the moistness of my trousers and quickly establish my dominance.  People listen to me, are intimidated by me, but they don’t know why. Those little receptors people can’t control and don’t even have consciousness of anymore send a clear message to all:  watch out; this guy’s pee is filled with anger.

Too many people make pie charts.  Not enough make pies.
Meetings would smell better with pies.

Noting the certificates on the wall above his desk.
The man has He several advanced degrees in tedium.

Business School.
Win/win is a myth.  It was created to make the three people with morals in business school feel better about their career choice:  “I can help the people I profit from.  That makes it good.  Maybe three of us can have a win/win/win situation.”  Here’s the problem:  behind the win/win exists a hidden double loss.  This is how the universe works.  Maybe the loss/loss is time-delayed or located far away so it is hard to notice, but it is always there.

The all-you-can eat buffet is a great deal for the customer and a money maker for the restaurant owner.  Win/win!  The low price of shrimp that makes the buffet a good deal is possible only because of third world slave or near-slave labor at the shrimp farms.  The quality of the shrimp is also compromised greatly.  If we count the bad deal it is for the shrimp, it’s like a loss/loss/loss.

Question everything.
Maybe we should preach to the choir.  They might need it the most.  They’re always hanging out back there behind the pulpit, feeling all important.  It’s about time someone turned around told them what’s what.

Ghosts in my hand.
Sometimes I see a note I’ve written and I don’t recognize my handwriting.  I have to think a bit and look for other evidence to convince myself that my note is my note.  It is sort of like being startled awake by my own hand when it lies dead asleep in front of my face.  Without the normal feeling of connectivity of my parts and millions of healthy nerves firing, everything about myself quickly becomes foreign and scary.

New Martial Art in the Backyard
A wren swoops to jab a squirrel with his beak.  He circles quickly and jabs into the squirrel again.  Over and over again, the little bird spears the much larger mammal, prodding him forward along the fence, then down to the ground–away from the wren’s nest.  A new martial art is born.  A wrenkwando master can defeat an army of giants with a few moves and a sharpened beak.  No one is seriously harmed, yet the little one is safe.  Step one in this martial art takes the longest time to complete:  learning to fly.  Once the initiate can do this well, the rest opens up pretty quickly.


Conspiracy of World-wide Poets
Not enough words rhyme with intestines.  I think that’s intentional.

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